McLaughlin: The many faces of grandchildren

Tuesday

Sep 12, 2017 at 2:29 PM

By Pam McLaughlin

Editor’s note: The following column first appeared in the Sept. 9, 2010 edition of the Woburn Advocate, a sister paper of the Somerville Journal. It is being re-printed to commemorate National Grandparents Day, which was last weekend.

I called, “Jesse, a picture of Alex just arrived.” Jesse quickly ran over to me. I then handed him the latest picture of my foster child, 13-year-old Alex, who lives in Guatemala under difficult living circumstances.

Alex always has a beautiful smile on his face. My grandson looked at the picture. He then commented, “Nana, Alex is wearing a yellow shirt. Did you buy it for him?” I responded, “Yes Jesse, I probably did as I send money each month to help him and his family.” Jesse then took the picture of Alex and placed it on the dining room hutch along with pictures of other family members.

Alex was 9 when I accepted him as my foster child through Children's International. I have been involved with this organization for many years. In 1996, I cared for another foster child, 2-year-old Gerston Daniel, until his family moved away in 2004.

They come to mind now, with National Grandparents Day approaching Sept. 12.

I recall three years ago when I first showed my grandson a picture of Alex. He gasped and said, “Nana, aren't you going to take care of me anymore?” I put my arm around Jesse, gave him a big hug and said, “Of course, I'm going to take care of you. You're my grandson and I love you. Alex lives far away in Guatemala. It's always good to help another child or person in need if you are able.”

I then read to Jesse some excerpts of letters received from Alex and his family. He has a father, mother, two sisters and two brothers living in a two-bedroom home with no running water. Water is delivered by means of a barrel, but the home does have electricity.

Alex mentioned in his letters that he likes to attend school and church. At home he washes the dishes, sweeps the floor, makes his bed and likes to watch TV. He also stated, “When I grow up, I would like to be a teacher.”

I sent Alex an encouraging letter with a package this past spring. Enclosed were three writing pens, a picture of St. Anthony, a rosary for his mother and a chain with a medal of St. Anthony for each family member. Six weeks later, I received a letter in response. Alex said, “Thank you for telling me it made you happy that I want to be a teacher when I grow up. My Mom is so happy for the rosary and thank you for the pens and picture of San Antonio.” Alex then added, “I am very excited to tell you I am achieving one of my dreams and that is to be on a soccer team and play every Sunday. My family and I are healthy. Thank you for all the benefits you have given me.”

Alex loves soccer and my grandson loves soccer too. Jesse is a good defenseman when he plays soccer for a Woburn sports team.

And reflecting on foster children, I recall September 1947, when I was in second grade and became a foster child. My mother, after returning home as a U.S. Army nurse serving in North Africa and Italy during WWII, met and married my stepfather. Apartments were difficult to find after the war. I recall the day I rode with my mother in a yellow checker cab to North Station. We boarded a train going to Beverly, Mass. I stayed with a very nice English couple, the Whipples, for the next seven months. My mother worked at a Boston hospital, while looking for an apartment for us to live in. I felt very lonesome, being separated from my family and cousins.. My mother visited every Saturday afternoon, but I still longed to be home.

I remember the first Sunday I lived with my foster family. Mr. Whipple gave me a ride in his car to show me where the Catholic church was located, so I could walk to the church each week. The next week I was given 10 cents, and started walking to the Catholic church, but couldn't find it. Rather than get lost, I saw a large white church across the street on a corner. I crossed the street, entered the church, and sat in the back row. The Sunday service had just started. I recall how the choir sounded like the voices of God's angels. The music was very comforting and beautiful to a 6-year-old girl. An usher came to my row when it was time for the collection. I placed my 10 cents in the basket, and he gave me a big smile. I left the church before the service ended and never returned. I knew I was a Catholic, and that was not a Catholic church. So each Sunday for the next seven months, I went to a variety store and spent my 10 cents buying candy. I then returned home to my foster parents who never knew I was not attending Sunday services.

And then one Saturday in April of 1948, my mother arrived and said, “Pammy, you're coming home today!” I felt elated as my clothes were being packed for the train ride back to Boston. Mr. Whipple looked very sad and Mrs. Whipple was crying as we said goodbye. I returned home and was reunited with my family and cousins. Three weeks later on May 8, I walked down the aisle at St. Anthony's Church in Allston (Boston) wearing a white dress, veil and shoes making my First Holy Communion, along with my cousin Mary Jane. I believe Jesus who also had a foster father here on earth and St. Anthony must have intervened on my behalf to receive this holy sacrament. St. Anthony is known as the finder of lost things. Jesus loves his little children and together they help to make dreams come true.

- Pamela McLaughlin is a resident of Somerville and contributor to the Journal.